Allies With the Axis
by The Jade Raven of Rivendell
Summary: Five young men on the opposite sides of World War II collide on the battlefield, and they try to escape capture by Hitler when they discover they share a very important secret: a secret that could change their lives for the worse. Contains Christian themes. Rated T for battle scenes and minor blood (on hiatus until further notice)
1. Called to War

**Hey there my FanFiction buddies! Have you ever just been hit with the most brilliant idea for a story that might have come from something completely unrelated? Well, that's what's just happened to me. A few nights ago, I was working on a nationality casting for the Ninjago characters, when _BAM!_ I got bonked on the head with this idea for an awesome story! This first chapter took me three days to write, and it's not really finished yet. I hope you like it, and please tell me how you like it in the reviews! Thanks! Oh, and a disclaimer: I do not own Ninjago or any of its characters.**

* * *

 **1\. Called to War**

 _Knock! Knock! Knock!_ Zane Julien opened the door of the London flat that he and his parents lived in. "Top of the afternoon to you, Mr. Williams!" he greeted the visitor cheerfully.

The postman returned Zane's friendly smile half-heartedly. "Won't you come in for tea?" Zane invited.

"I wouldn't wanna intrude on your 'ospitality, guv'nor," Williams said uncertainly.

"You wouldn't be intruding at all," Zane assured him. "Come in, it's colder than the dickens out there!"

Williams stepped into the Julien flat. Cozily decorated, a fire was roaring in the sitting room fireplace, surrounded by comfortable velvet-covered chairs. Family paintings lined the walls, the most recent one hanging above the mantle over the fireplace. It depicted a smiling older couple, their hands resting on the shoulders of a young man sitting between them: Mr. and Mrs. Julien, and their son, Zane, who was already busy making his guest comfortable.

Twenty-one-year-old Zane was tall and handsome, with snowy blond hair styled in a neat flat-top, eyes the same blue-gray color of an cloudy English sky, and a kind smile. He was always eager to please, overflowing with hospitality for anyone who entered or was invited into the Julien home. Everyone who knew Zane liked his warm and sweet personality.

"Ah, Williams! Welcome, welcome!" Mr. Julien's jovial smile warmed Williams even more than the blazing fire. "I see Zane's busy with tea already, the good lad. Sit yourself down, Williams, make yourself at home. You look cold enough to chill even a penguin!"

"Thank ye kindly, guv'nor," Williams said gratefully, taking a seat in front of the fire.

Mrs. Julien and Zane came in from the kitchen with tea and biscuits on a silver tray. Once the family and their guest were settled with what they wanted, Zane asked, "What news from the town do you have to deliver today, Mr. Williams?"

Williams' smile faded. "Today's the kind o'day when I 'ates d'liverin' the mail to sech kind and 'ospitable folk like yersel's, Maister Zane," he said sadly.

"What troubles you?" the young man asked, concerned.

Williams dug through his mailbag and handed Zane a small postcard, along with the latest issue of the _London Times_. "Read the 'eadlines firs', I 'opes it takes a bit o'the sting out o'the card," Williams advised.

Zane unfolded the the newspaper and read the headlines out loud as follows: "' **Hitler Invades Poland! Great Britain and France Declare War on This Rising Threat to Europe!** '"

After staring at the headlines for five minutes, Zane took the postcard and read it silently. "What is it, dear?" his mother asked anxiously.

"I've been called to appear for a physical examination next Tuesday," Zane said quietly. "I've been enlisted into the British army."

"Oh, Zane!" Mrs. Julien hugged her son tightly, tears rolling down her plump rosy cheeks. Zane put his arms around his mother.

"This is preposterous!" Mr. Julien sounded almost angry. "They can't just call any young English citizen to war without-"

"Father," Zane said, looking up from his mother's face to his father's, "even if I had a choice, I would fight for our mother England with my whole heart. Hitler is a dangerous man, and if we don't stop him, who will?"

In truth, Zane was frightened at the prospect of fighting and killing other human beings, especially complete strangers whom he held no grudges against, but he put on a brave face for his parents. "God will protect me on the battlefield," he said. "He will never leave me, nor forsake me. So long as I'm fighting for Him, He will be there for me."

Mrs. Julien raised her tear-filled eyes up to look at her only son. "Be brave, my dearest," she whispered, voice choked with uncried sobs.

"I will be, Mother," Zane told her gently.

* * *

"But Jay, you can't!" Nya protested.

Jay Marcheur looked into the worried amber eyes of his fiancee. "But I have to, _ma chere_ ," he told her, holding her soft hands in his own. "France needs all the help she can have to fight Hitler and the Nazis. You know that as well as I do."

"Yes, but . . ." Nya's eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to lose you. If you go off to war, you may never come back."

The French youth laid a hand gently on her cheek.

At age twenty-one, Jacques Marcheur, nicknamed Jay by his friends and family, had a bright and happy future lying ahead of him. Living on the outskirts of the city of Paris, Jay had the looks and personality that reflected his home country. He had bright auburn hair that stubbornly refused to be tidy, blue eyes that mirrored a cloudless summer sky, a tall, lean figure, and a helpful, inventive, and positive approach to life. He was always ready to lend a helping hand, especially with his parents' farm, where he had six younger siblings to care for as well as tending the produce. Everyone who had some connection to the Marcheur family found Jay a hard-working, imaginative, and charming youth.

He and Nya, both deeply in love with each other, were engaged to be married the next spring. Unfortunately, those plans would have to be put on hold, thanks to a little postcard that had arrived that morning for Jay.

Now, he was trying to comfort his fiancee after he had told her the bad news: he had been enlisted in the French army to help England fight against Germany.

"I will come back to you," Jay told Nya, softly stroking her cheek, catching one of the tears that was making its slow progress down her face. "I know that God will shield me in combat. Nothing happens before its rightful time, Nya. God won't take me away unless He has reason to. But I think He still has need for me here. With you. But, _les chemins de Dieu pour nous ne sont pas toujours une ligne droite_."

"'God's paths for us aren't always a straight line,'" Nya repeated, grasping Jay's hand tightly in hers.

"Exactly. Don't worry, _ma cherie_ , God will bring me home." Jay leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. "Come on, I've got to tell my family."

~The Marcheur farmhouse~

"Don't leave me, Jay!" Seven-year-old Isabelle wailed, clinging to her brother's leg and crying pitifully.

Jay lifted Isabelle in his arms and looked her in the eye. "I won't be gone for long, Isabelle," he said, trying hard to hold back his own tears as his little sister's lower lip trembled. "I'll come back, I promise."

"You promise?" Isabelle asked tearfully, scrubbing at her eyes with a small fist.

"I promise."

Jay's five-year-old brother, Jean, was determinedly keeping a straight face. "I won't cry," he told Jay resolutely. "I'm a big boy. Big boys don't cry."

"Yes, but big boys also know when it's the right time to cry," Jay told Jean, setting down Isabelle and now looking into Jean's face, the little boy stubbornly holding back tears.

Jay's oldest sister, eighteen-year-old Gabrielle, had her face buried in her hands, sobbing unashamedly. Jay hated to see his favorite and closest sister so upset, but he couldn't find the right words to soothe her like he'd had for Nya, Isabelle, and Jean. So he put a hand on her back, and hope that just him sitting there with her would help. When she felt Jay's hand on her back, Gabrielle turned and hugged him tightly, weeping into his shoulder. Jay put both arms around her, and gently stroked her brown-blonde hair. Just his presence there calmed Gabrielle down, and her sobs soon subsided into weak hiccups.

Jay's parents, Monsieur and Madame Marcheur, had received their oldest's news with pain. "If they call Jay off to war," Madame Marcheur said fearfully, "they might call Emile or George next, and George is in no fit state to serve!"

"Can't you ask for a discharge, _mon fils_?" Monsieur Marcheur asked fretfully. "Tell them it'll be nearly impossible for our farm to survive without your help?"

"I could, but they'll probably reject it, as there are other healthy sons who can work instead of me," Jay said, gently releasing Gabrielle. "Emile could get off with a discharge, since George can't work, and he's the only one old enough to be the man of the family. But, maybe he won't get called at all."

"Jay-jay?" A small hand tugged on his pant leg. Jay looked down to see his nine-year-old sister, Fleur, gazing up at him with wide blue eyes.

"What is it, Fleur?" he asked kindly, kneeling down to her eye-level.

"Will you get hurt in the war?" she asked, worried.

Jay put a hand on Fleur's shoulder. "I'll try to avoid it," he said, smiling.

Fleur smiled back, but weakly. "Please don't get hurt, Jay," she whispered.

Jay's eyes welled up with tears, and this time he didn't hold them back.

* * *

"I can't do it!" Cole stamped his foot angrily. "I'm not a fighter, Papa!"

"But you also have to fulfill your duty as a Russian citizen by fighting for your country, Cole!" Mr. Black said, exasperated. "Are you a Russian boy or not?"

"Sometimes I wish I weren't!" Cole shouted. "Then I wouldn't have to live up to so much!"

His older brother Josef smirked at him. "If you don't fight," he sneered, "everyone will call you a _trus_ , a coward."

Cole ground his teeth. "You stay out of this," he snarled.

Twenty-two-year-old Cole Black was a young man with a severely misleading appearance. With thick black hair with side-swept bangs, thick eyebrows, piercing dark eyes, and often a serious expression on his face, anyone could have mistaken him for the model Russian youth. But his attitude was anything but model. He adamantly refused to follow or believe anything that went against his own personal thoughts, which was nearly everything his father tried to make him think. The only reason he was still living with his father and his aggravatingly perfect older brother Josef was because of his mother, Vanessa, who was gravely ill. Cole felt like the only way he was related to this family of model Russians was through his mother, who loved him and treated him the way his father couldn't and wouldn't do.

"Josef is taking the situation like a true man should!" Mr. Black hissed back at his son. "Looking it in the face and accepting it bravely!"

"Stop comparing me to Josef!" Cole couldn't take it anymore. "I'm not Josef! I'll never be Josef! I don't want to be Josef! I'm my own person, with my own life! If it wasn't for Mama, I wouldn't even be here! But I chose to stay, for her sake! I can make my own decisions!"

"Not decisions of this kind, you can't!" Mr. Black roared, his temper finally at an end. "You are going to join the army and fight Hitler even if it kills you!"

"You don't even care about how I feel about this, do you?" Cole was almost screaming with rage. "All YOU care about is that I be the son who's absolutely, positively PERFECT! Just. Like. Josef." He was seething with fury now. "Well, I'm going to talk to Mama, and if she says I should fight, I'll fight. But I'll do it for her, not because you want me to."

WIth that, he turned on his heel and stormed upstairs. But before walking into his mother's room, he stopped at the door. She'd probably heard their argument from downstairs. He needed to cool off first before he talked to her. He turned and went back down the hall, to his own room, and shut and locked the door behind him.

His fluffy gray-and-white cat, Kit, mewed at him as he threw himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Cole looked over at Kit, who gave him a quizzical stare before curling herself up into a ball and falling asleep. Cole decided to take a cue from his pet, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

~About an hour later~

Cole felt fully relaxed and calm enough to attempt to talk to his mother about his call to service. He tentatively knocked on his mother's door. " _Voydite_ ," came her soft voice from inside.

Cole opened the door and stepped inside her room. " _Eto ya_ , Mama," he said.

"Cole." Mrs. Black smiled at her youngest son. "Come closer to the bed, dear."

He sat down beside the bed in the armchair that used to be at her desk. "I sense you're worried, my sweet," she said softly. "What troubles you?"

Cole poured out the story of the enlistment card and his argument with his father that had happened only an hour before. Mrs. Black shook her head sadly. "What your father said was hurtful," she agreed, "he could have expressed his desire more kindly, I'm sure. But you do know your attitude wasn't the best either."

Cole nodded. Now that his mind was more clear, he was ashamed of himself and the way he behaved. "What do you think, Mama?" he asked. "Should I go fight?"

Mrs. Black stared into space, a thoughtful expression on her pale-skinned face. "From my own heart, I do not think you should," she said, resting a weak hand on her son's cheek. "But, the patriotic part of me says you should fight. Not to kill or hurt, but to protect our country and our people."

Cole nodded again. "I know. That's what I'm thinking too," he said. "But I don't want to kill anyone. I don't have the guts. Josef's right, I'm a coward." He hung his head.

"Don't say that about yourself, Cole," his mother scolded, tilting his head back up. "You're one of the bravest boys I've seen in a long time. Just because you have a heart for peace doesn't mean you're a coward. There is a difference between murder and killing, if you're afraid you'll be committing murder. And if you give it some thought, you will know that difference. Read your Bible, Cole. It has all the answers you need. And, if you do go off to war, remember to take it with you. Along with all my love."

Cole looked into his mother's emerald green eyes, trying to keep his own from filling with tears. "But Mama," he said softly, "I may never see you again if I go."

Mrs. Black nodded, but she smiled at Cole. "I am well aware of my risk, my dearest," she told him. "But you know what I look like even when I'm not there, don't you?"

"Yes, but that's not the same as actually being there with you."

"Ah, you are a wise and thoughtful young man, Cole Black," she said, running her hand gently through his thick dark hair, "you value things that are of the _best_ value. That's a trait that's hard to find today." She leaned upward and kissed her son on the cheek. "Be brave, my son. And even if you don't see me again, I will be waiting for you with our Heavenly Father."

Tears ran down Cole's cheeks as he hugged his mother.

* * *

 **I'm gonna be using some words and phrases in the characters' native tongues around the story, but here's some translations for the unfamiliar bits:**

 **French:**

 **Marcheur: Walker: In French, (I'm assuming Jay's short for James in this sense) Jay's name would be Jacques Marcheur**

 **ma chere: my dearest**

 **les chemins de Dieu pour nous ne sont pas toujours une ligne droite: God's paths for us aren't always a straight line**

 **ma cherie: my darling**

 **mon fils: my son**

 **Russian/Yiddish (I think):**

 **trus: coward**

 **Voydite: Come in**

 **Eto ya: It's me**

* * *

 **I hope you enjoy it so far, and stay tuned for Chapter 2, where we sit in on our Axis boys! Ninjagomasteroftheforce OUT!**

 **#God's Not Dead!**


	2. On the Other Side of the War

**I AM SO, SO, SORRY! I CAN'T BELIEVE I TOOK SO STINKING LONG ON THIS CHAPTER!**

 **Take a deep breath, Titan. *inhales* *chokes* *exhales* I think I'm okay now.**

 **NO I'M NOT! I'M SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU GUYS WAIT SO LONG!**

 **Another deep breath. *inhales* *hacks* *exhales weakly***

 **Okay, now I'm fine.**

 **I really wanna say both sorry and thank-you to everyone who's waited so patiently for me to get the second chapter up. Writer's block really stinks, and I'm grateful to you guys who endured waiting so long.**

 **LightningDanino23: I made you cry? Wow, I guess I'm more powerful than I thought . . .**

 **PrincessMialyn: After watching a whole bunch of Ninjago episodes in Italian, I can definitely see your point XD. And Cole _does_ look Italian, now that I think about it . . . must just be my own Russian blood that veers to the more Russian side of his appearance. And you're pretty close with your guess about the nationalities for Kai and Lloyd.**

 **An extra special thank-you to lovesgod12 and Mayor of Ninjago City for their advice when I was stuck in my writer's block! Your ideas were super helpful!**

 **I also just wanna warn you: I don't know too much about WWII, and the main climax has a one in a gazillion percent chance of happening (not telling you what it is yet XD), so I'm kinda taking some creative liberties with this. Hey, Stephen Crane made up most of the battle scenes in _The Red Badge of Courage_ , and that's FAMOUS historical fiction! (Never read the book, too boring, but I know about it XD)**

 **I hope you enjoy this, and I PROMISE that I won't take so stinking long with the next chapter . . . I hope . . .**

* * *

 **2\. On the Other Side of the War**

Kai Todaro stared at the small postcard that had arrived in his mailbox. Without reading it, he already knew what it was. It was the same card that had killed his father. And that had almost killed his mother. _Mother's not going to like this,_ he thought, clenching the card in his fist. _Why do I have to live in Japan, of all places? Especially under a_ _jāku_ _like Hirohito._ His grandfather had been enlisted into the army and killed in the Great War because of this stupid postcard, his father had run away and had been executed because of this card, and now it was his turn.

Twenty-one-year-old Kai Todaro was a somewhat unconventional-looking Japanese youth. He had spiky brown hair that could never be flattened or straightened, almond-shaped eyes the color of an amber gem, and a lean and muscular figure. He always wore red, even though he hated what the color had now come to represent. He was known for being hot-headed and reckless, and he had an easily-roused temper that matched his fiery personality perfectly. He had a stubborn streak, and he disturbed his neighbors with his hidden but firm disagreements with Emperor Hirohito's rule; because while everyone else in his hometown obeyed Hirohito without question, Kai held his own standards about how a country should be ruled.

"What came in the mail, today, _darin_?" Mrs. Todaro called.

"Only this card, Mother!" Kai replied, closing the door behind him. "And I don't think you'll like it."

He handed his mother the postcard. Mrs. Todaro read it, almond brown eyes widening in horror. " _Masaka!_ You haven't!"

"Yes, I have," Kai said grimly. "I've been enlisted to fight in Emperor Hirohito's army to help Hitler against England, France, and Russia."

"But this cannot be!" Mrs. Todaro moaned, dropping the card and sinking to her knees. "I've already lost my husband and my father to the army, I can't lose my only son!" She buried her head in her hands.

Kai knelt down next to his mother. He hated to see her so upset, her almond brown eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry I've upset you, Mother," he said, putting a hand on her back. "I don't want to do this any more than you don't want me to. But I don't really have a choice. It's either this-" he gestured to the card, which was now lying on the floor, "-or execution. I hate Hirohito, but I know that fighting for Japan is the best thing for me and you right now, even if I disagree with the way our country is run."

" _Shikashi, watashi wa anata o ushinaitaku arimasen! Anata wa watashi no yuiitsu no musukodesu!"_ Mrs. Todaro cried, horrified by her son's words.

Kai was near tears himself. "I know the risk I'm taking, Mother," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady, "but it would be an even greater risk if I tried to refuse my way out of this. But no matter how many risks there will be, _Kami wa watashi no ashioto o michibiku, watashi no soba ni migi ni narimasu:_ God will be right beside me, guiding my footsteps. Take comfort in those words, Mother. The Almighty will be watching over me on the battlefield, and you here at home."

Mrs. Todaro wiped her eyes on her kimono sleeve. "You are right, my son," she whispered. " _Watashi wa, anata o aishiteimasu._ " Kai put his arms around his mother, for he never knew when he might ever embrace her, or even see her, again.

* * *

"This is _imperdonabile_!" Signor Garmadon stormed, clenching his fists in rage as he paced the floor of the living room. "My son, barely just turned twenty, called to fight a battle against the wrong side?! It's _ridicolo_! I say we move away until this war is over."

"But where would we go?" Signora Garmadon demanded, twisting her dark braid around her hand anxiously. "We have no family that would take us in anywhere outside of Italy, and it's too dangerous to cross into the United States."

Signor Garmadon slumped against a chair, his anger evaporating quicker than snow in an Italian summer. He held his head in his hands, too miserable to speak. His son, Lloyd, sat quietly nearby, holding his black-and-white cat, Figaro, in his arms.

Despite his English-sounding name, Lloyd Garmadon embraced his Italian blood wholeheartedly. Living in the historic city of Milan, the twenty-year-old had never any desire to explore the world outside of Italy. With windswept blond hair, emerald green eyes, and a friendly smile for everyone, Lloyd caught the eye of many girls in his neighborhood. But he didn't really pay them much attention. He was a bit of a loner, preferring to stay home and read rather than do rough-and-tumble things with the other boys in their community.

He had given his parents the enlistment card with reluctance, knowing how his father would react. Signor Garmadon hated the fascist way Italy was run, especially with Mussolini in control, who was, in his mind: "a _tiranno_ no better than Hitler."

After hearing his father ranting about how unfair it was for Lloyd to be forced to fight for the wrong cause, Lloyd said quietly, "Papà, you know I don't have a choice about who I fight against."

"I know that," Signor Garmadon said, giving Lloyd a bit of a confused look.

"But I _do_ have a choice about who, or what, I fight for," Lloyd continued, letting Figaro squirm out of his arms and scamper off. "I know you hate Mussolini, and the idea of me fighting for him, but I'm not. I'm fighting for the safety of Italy, and for what we _used_ to stand for."

"But what it stands for now is a complete _disordine_!" Signor Garmadon exclaimed.

"I know that, Papà," Lloyd said calmly. "I hate Mussolini as much as you do, but I have a duty to _Mater Italiae_ to protect her. Who knows? Maybe this war could end Mussolini's rule over our country, and the corruption will be kept at bay. Whatever the case may be, I'm certain that it's the will of God that'll ultimately be my reason for fighting. I'm fighting to bring His truth back, even though I'm on the side that doesn't believe the same."

Signor Garmadon sighed. "You're right, my son," he said. "Even though I do harbor some minor doubts about your convictions, I know you're right. God will ultimately determine the fate of this war, and He may bless us with a defeat."

"That's the first time I've ever heard you say that before," Lloyd said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"And it'll probably be the last time," Signor Garmadon replied. "But the current circumstances permit me to say it, just this once."

Signora Garmadon gave her son a tight squeeze. "Be careful, _carissimo_ ," she told him quietly. "Come home to us, will you?"

"I will try, Mama," Lloyd said, hugging her back. "I will surely try."

* * *

 **More Translations! :D**

 **jaku: jerk**

 **darin: darling**

 **Masaka!: No!**

 **Shikashi, watashi wa anata o ushinaitaku arimasen! Anata wa watashi no yuiitsu no musukodesu!: (roughly) But you're my only son! I can't lose you!**

 **Kami wa watashi no ashioto o michibiku, watashi no soba ni migi ni narimasu: (roughly) God will be beside me, guiding my footsteps**

 **Watashi wa, anata o aishiteimasu: (roughly) I love you**

 **Italian:**

 **imperdonabile: unforgivable, inexcusable**

 **ridicolo: ridiculous**

 **disordine: mess**

 **carissimo: dearest**

 **#God's Not Dead!**


End file.
